


Near Wild Heaven

by grey_sw (grey)



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey/pseuds/grey_sw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this kinkmeme prompt: "After being in the world of the users for some time, Clu becomes rather fascinated with all that happens in this world, but particularly the weather. During a thunderstorm, Clu stands out in the rain, hair drenched and shaking slightly, but not willing to go in. Flynn goes to retrieve the program and is stricken by his soaked beauty, silhouetted by the lightning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Near Wild Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[**blue_crow**](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading!

Kevin Flynn sat before his touchscreen, typing with one hand as he tapped ash off the end of a joint with the other. Outside, thunder rumbled across the bay, and the rain whispered down on the roof of his parents' house. _His_ house, at last; his own home.

 _And so I returned to this world with my family,_ he typed. _My family, including the man I'd spent the last thousand years fighting. In the end, all it took was a hug. All it took was accepting that what Clu had done to my world, to **our** world, was nothing more than what I had done to Clu._

Flynn looked over the text, scratched his greying beard, and puffed briefly on his joint. He'd been smoking quite a bit since he'd been back from the Grid, though not more than a couple hits at any one time. It was just enough to take the edge off, just enough to remind him of what he'd been missing. Weed was something he'd never managed to properly reproduce through code. The small stash he'd had with him the day of the coup had long been nothing but a memory... and even if it hadn't been, they had much better stuff in 2010. Medical marijuana: now _there_ was a far-out idea!

He took one more drag, held it in until he forgot to, and then carefully knocked the cherry into the ashtray he'd left on the corner of the touchscreen. He tucked the rest of the joint behind his ear for later. Then he gave a thoughtful frown, hit enter, and typed one more epigram at the end of his memoirs.

 _That's the thing about perfection, chaos, even evolution: it doesn't go the way you think it will, not even when it does. If the last six months have taught me anything, it's to question my own assumptions... especially the ones that seem the most obvious and the most precious to me._

That was the capper to what Sam had taken to calling Dad's Big Adventure -- the whole thing had been both pointless and revolutionary, all at the same time. Flynn's bio-digital jazz had turned out to be just as unknowable as Clu's perfect system; he'd come back only to find that Sam's generation had _already_ discovered a digital frontier to reshape the human condition. Quorra had concurred. She'd taken one look at the internet, declared that universal connectivity was evolution's third helix, and gone back to playing Angry Birds on her iPhone.

Fortunately, the long centuries Flynn had spent on the Grid had given him a unique perspective on the inner workings of the mind. He was already close to a prototype version of FlynnLink, a mental, visceral connection that made WiFi look as primitive as a stone axe. That left the long process of getting everyone online, all the time: program and human alike, from the poorest farmer and the most insignificant subroutine to the richest multi-national CEO. Once everyone was linked, cooperation would grow. Empathy would blossom. The lines between peoples and nations would blur, and at the same time become sharper, more open and more voluntary; as long as 4chan didn't go to war with reddit, Flynn figured things ought to go pretty well.

Universal connectivity was a challenge too great even for Encom, though, which was why they'd set out to acquire a telecommunications company. Flynn had managed it primarily by telling Clu that they called it a corporate _takeover_. He and Alan had made a frighteningly effective team, so much so that Flynn and Sam had watched as they carved up Verizon like a Thanksgiving turkey. Clu and Alan had picked Ed Dillinger Jr. to manage their newly-merged software team, and the wolfish grin above the kid's popped collar said all that needed to be said about the success of the project. Things were looking up.

The thunder boomed again, closer this time, deep and oppressive. Flynn saved the file and powered down the machine, just in case. Then he stood up and listened, letting the rhythm of the rain fill him up along with the weed. The house was quiet, utterly still beyond the rush of the raindrops, and that was unusual. After a moment or two Flynn stretched, yawned, and ambled off to make sure Clu hadn't gotten his hand stuck in the garbage disposal again.

Flynn smiled at the image. Clu had left his army behind easily enough; he'd wanted to join Flynn in the outside world more than he'd ever wanted to conquer it, apparently. Still, the great tyrant of the Grid had spent his first few days on Earth hiding under a blanket in Flynn's bedroom, overwhelmed by the sheer _realness_ of the world he'd entered. Breathing, eating, even sleeping were new and frightening to him, and it had taken all of Flynn's gentleness to coax him out of his shell. He'd spent hours by the bedside, talking quietly, telling Clu all about the wonders of the world, and about his family, and how glad he was to have Clu with him at last. And it had worked. Clu had come out, too curious about the real world to hide any longer.

They'd taken a road trip up the coast together, just the two of them, stopping at run-down diners and lonely campgrounds. Flynn had given Clu a set of mala beads just like his, with a little mantra of his own to repeat if he got too freaked out -- "perfection is everywhere" -- and by the time they'd come back down through Oregon he'd stopped muttering it under his breath all the time.

Instead, Clu had become almost too curious, too open. He was fascinated by all the small things people took for granted, like the stars; he spent hours sitting on the roof, listening to the wind and the waves. He wanted to see and do everything all at once, and it was all Flynn could do to keep him out of trouble. Encom helped, of course. _Alan_ helped. He looked like Tron, like Rinzler, and he gave Clu plenty to do. But it only helped so much, and Clu was still too eager by half.

Flynn called to him, poking his head into every room. When he got no answer he began to worry. He walked around to the back to get his sandals, toeing into them in a nervous, distracted way. Then he happened to look up, through the big sliding-glass door to the yard, and froze in place.

Clu was out there, standing barefoot in the middle of the downpour. His hair had escaped its severe arrangement, hanging heavy and wet on his shoulders, and his dark grey shirt was so soaked it was black as night. He was shaking, trembling so strongly that Flynn could see it in his shoulders, and for a half-second Flynn was afraid for him. Then he saw the joy on Clu's face, the blissful smile, and it went straight to his heart. He just stood there, one foot half-in and half-out of its sandal, staring at Clu as he worshipped the rain.

Clu turned, stretching up toward the sky, his hands wide open at his sides. Lightning flashed beyond him, a massive strike. It sizzled down to the Earth and then forked _up_ , up like Clu; it seemed to take forever to Flynn, unfolding like a fractal. For a long second afterward every detail still floated before him, as if seared into his eyes. As it faded, thunder rolled over the land, so loud he could feel it in his chest. It hit him like a fist. He wavered, staring out at the sky.

Then he looked back at Clu, and was undone.

Clu was still silhouetted there, arcing up beneath the storm, but suddenly Flynn was seeing him in another way, really seeing him: the line of his neck as it stretched toward the sky, the transparent thinness of his shirt where it clung to the breadth of his shoulders, the tight round ass beneath wet blue jeans. All of it shot straight to Flynn's cock. Fuck, Clu was beautiful, _beautiful_ , and Flynn's mouth was dry, and his heartbeat was pounding in his ears...

Before he knew it he was sliding the door open, slipping out into the rain, still in one sandal. He let it fall free into the wet grass, just barely feeling the cool, clean shower as it hit him. He was pulled toward Clu, drawn to him as if he were a magnet or a big, bright sun.

"Flynn!" Clu cried, spotting him at last. He laughed, almost madly, and threw his arms wide again. "Look at this! It's amazing!"

Flynn wanted nothing more than to crash into those arms. He didn't answer, just strode forward in a barefooted beeline, giving Clu just enough time to blink before he was on him. He pressed himself against Clu, breathing him in. He couldn't hold back a groan at the heat that radiated from him, burning beneath the wet and the cold.

Clu's arms came around him in return. "Look at that lightning! Just like home, only even more perfect," he said, still grinning at Flynn. "I never knew it could be so beautiful..."

"Me either," Flynn muttered. He was staring at Clu, at Clu's lips, and then he closed the distance. He kissed Clu for a microsecond, hot, so hot, and then Clu jerked back, blue eyes wide with surprise. Flynn surged forward. He grabbed two fistfuls of Clu's shirt, slick with rain, and drove the kiss home again. He poured everything he had into it, licking and sucking Clu's mouth, begging him wordlessly to open. He slotted his hips against him, too. He groaned at the rough slide his wet yoga pants made against Clu's hard thigh, against his own hardening dick.

Clu kissed back. He was tentative, curious, not quite sure, and he hissed out a sharp breath when Flynn's tongue breached his lips. Flynn pressed the attack, spurred on by the sound. He breathed hard into Clu's mouth, sucked his tongue, bit gently at his lip. It was a long time before he let Clu go again.

"Mmm, Flynn, what...?" Clu asked, though it was barely a question. It was still raining, raining all around them. The thunder rolled again, echoing from somewhere far away.

Flynn tugged on Clu's shirt in reply, urging him down to the grass. They knelt there together in the cool damp as Flynn peeled the grey tee-shirt off Clu's belly. It came away slowly, heavy and wet. The fabric bunched over Clu's shoulders as Flynn pushed it off, and then it tangled in the black beads at his wrist. Clu gave a little shiver as the rain hit him. Then Flynn latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, groaning against the firm plane of Clu's chest. Clu moaned, too, a soft sound against the background of the rain. He reached up as if by instinct, stroking his fingers through Flynn's wet hair.

"Fuck," Flynn muttered, his face still buried in Clu's chest. "C'mon, get this _off_..." He began to tug at the waistband of Clu's jeans, clumsy fingers yanking at his belt. Clu reached down and fumbled with it for a second, got it open, and then Flynn shoved him over so he could work the jeans over his hips and down. It took longer than the shirt, too damn long: every inch of the thick canvas was plastered to Clu's heated skin. Finally, _finally_ it was off. Clu lay there, nearly naked in the green grass, with a thick, tempting bulge in his black boxer-briefs.

Flynn shed his shirt in record time. The thick wet cotton made a heavy slap as it hit the ground, somewhere off to the right. He yanked the drawstring on his pants and wriggled out of them, too. He'd been home all day, so he didn't have anything on under them, and his dick was already so hard it stood straight up against his belly. Clu stared at it openly, blue eyes narrowing in hunger.

"Flynn, I--" he said, licking his lips. His hips rolled once, up toward his Creator. "I need..."

"I know, man." Flynn's voice came out dry and hoarse. He moved to cover Clu with his body, rubbing against him; he pushed his dick in beside Clu's, sliding against that slick wet fabric. Clu gasped.

" _Oh_ , he groaned. He ground his ass against the earth, pushed his hips up again. "User, please, _please_ m-make me..."

Flynn stroked against him for another second, then leaned over to pull Clu's briefs down. Just as he touched them, Clu grabbed his wrist. They locked eyes.

"Need it," Clu muttered, lowering his gaze. "Need it so bad, but I haven't-- I've never..."

"What?" Flynn asked, before he could stop himself. His mind was suddenly blank with surprise; what Clu had said didn't compute.

"You made me different," Clu said, a hint of accusation in his tone. "None of the others were like this." He waved a hand at his own crotch. "They didn't know what to do with me, and Tron was too busy with _you_. And after I became the Leader..." He trailed off, but Flynn could hear the rest as clearly as if he'd said it: _they were all afraid of me._

Flynn flushed with shame, the rain hot against his steaming face. When he'd made Clu in his image, he'd never even considered how that might set him apart from his fellow programs. A thousand years of celibacy, a thousand years of _loneliness_ \-- it was horrible, a cruel curse, not least because Flynn knew just what it felt like. Flynn had had plenty of memories to keep him company, though, warm dreams of Jordan and Alan and Tron... and with a shock, he realized that Clu must've had copies of those same memories, distant images from his hated Maker's life. Pictures of what might have been, as useless as an empty promise.

"I-- I'm sorry," Flynn stammered. "I didn't know, I didn't think--"

"Don't be sorry now," Clu growled. "Just touch me!" He slammed his hips up against Flynn's, eager and needy.

Flynn looked down at him for another second, nodded, and pulled Clu's briefs down. His cock sprang free, hard against Flynn's hip; he took it in hand, pumping it gently. It was thick and damp, not just from the rain, deliciously hot in Flynn's hand. His own dick got harder with every stroke.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Oh, Clu, they did _not_ know what they were missing..."

Clu purred his next breath, swelling with pride. He needed that, needed to be worshipped, to be wanted. Flynn slid down, peeling Clu's briefs the rest of the way off. He leaned over Clu, letting the rain patter gently on his back, and nuzzled against Clu's stomach. He licked there, tasting rainwater and Clu, letting his hair whisper over Clu's skin. Then he dipped his tongue into Clu's navel. Another feature Clu had, but the other programs did not; he clenched beneath Flynn's lips, a hard plane of muscle stretched beneath the slightest bit of softness.

"Perfect," Flynn muttered. "You're perfect, Clu, so damn big and hot..."

Clu squeezed his eyes shut. "Perfection," he moaned, and Flynn could've sworn Clu's cock got even harder, even larger. "Perfection... is everywhere."

Flynn smiled. "That's right, man. Let me show you."

He took the tip of Clu's dick into his mouth, sucking gently, swirling his tongue around the head. He stroked beneath it with slow precision, teasing a little -- he could feel how hard Clu was, how close. Just like Flynn had been at that age, groaning beneath Alan on that tacky couch in his office above the arcade. He didn't want it to end like that, though, didn't want to make Clu's first time so short.

"User," Clu hissed, as Flynn drew his lips carefully over his sensitive flesh, letting them slip back out over the thick head of his cock. "No, d-don't stop..."

"Shh," Flynn murmured, shifting his knees in the soft wet grass. He was still a little stoned, and it was drawing everything out, making his movements slow and easy. He felt as if he could look at Clu forever, drinking in his hard young body. He slid his hands beneath it, cupping Clu's ass, squeezing it hard. "I want to fuck you," Flynn told him, whispering close in his ear. "You okay with that?"

Clu shut his eyes. For a moment Flynn thought he was going to reject this, reject _him_. Then, in a tight, quiet voice, Clu spoke. "Anything you want. Anything." His eyes were still shut. "Just don't-- don't leave me. Don't stop."

"I won't," Flynn said. "I promise."

Clu's eyes flew open. They were fierce and angry, bright with pain. "No! No more promises!" he spat, and for a moment he was the dictator in black and yellow again, the hateful tyrant who'd thrown Flynn down and smashed his dreams.

Flynn reached down to stroke Clu's hair, moving with slow care. He let his fingers tangle in the thick wet strands, gently, so gently. "Alright. No promises."

Clu relaxed beneath him, the mad look fading from his eyes. His hand curled around his own cock, pumping up and down; he'd clearly figured _that_ out over those long centuries, if his steady, familiar rhythm was anything to go by. Flynn reached down, tugging his hand away, and Clu resisted on instinct, wriggling, his wet body sliding beneath Flynn's.

"C'mon, roll over," Flynn told him. "Help me out." But he stopped Clu halfway, rolling him onto his side. It didn't feel right to take him from above, not yet -- not when things between them were so new, so tender and raw.

Clu glanced back at him, eyes wide. Flynn reached up to stroke his back and side, trying for reassurance. To his surprise, Clu's skin felt thicker there. A wide stripe of dense, less-yielding flesh ran along the ridge of his back. It didn't look any different, yet Clu bucked and hissed through his teeth when Flynn's fingers pressed against it.

Flynn thought of goldenrod circuits and smiled, storing that secret away for another day. He moved forward, sliding through the wet grass, pressing himself close to Clu's broad back.

"Relax," he said. "Just breathe. Try not to tense up." He lifted Clu's leg, hooking his elbow around it. Tron had always craved this position, partly because it kept Flynn's arm in contact with the node on his hip; Clu, too, gave a quiet moan as Flynn wrapped his arm around his thigh, as the ring of his ass was exposed to the cool rain. He glanced back at Flynn.

Flynn grinned at him. "Go on. Touch it, man. Your dick is so hot. Stroke it for me, Clu. I want to see it."

Clu purred again, drinking in Flynn's words. He stroked up the side of his shaft, wrapped his hand around the head, and squeezed it gently. Flynn groaned. "Yeah, like that," said, letting his hand dip down to his own waist. "Just like that." Between the rain and his own leaking cock, his fingers grew wet and ready. He rubbed them together, savoring the slickness. Clu was still stroking himself, so utterly absorbed that he stayed calm as Flynn pressed a finger against his entrance. He gasped, though, as it slipped in -- gasped and pressed back, taking it all the way to the knuckle.

Flynn grew still, but Clu made a harsh, hungry sound, humping back against him. Flynn's cock jumped, and he almost forgot about the other finger. He pressed it in, though, scissoring gently, desperate to get Clu ready. It was hard to wait; so hard with Clu rumbling and muttering against him with every breath, almost like Rinzler, his hand full of his own huge cock.

Flynn rubbed against Clu's ass, wetting it, slicking it up, grinning at the sight of his dick against that little ring of muscle. Yeah, he _was_ big. They were big together, and he was _glad_ he'd made Clu that way, glad he'd made him the same, just like him. Then he was pushing in, pulling Clu close with a grunt.

Clu yelled, a ragged shout against the rain. His hand never stopped. Within a minute he was pressing back against Flynn, trying to take more of him, wanting it all. The lightning flashed again, spearing through the sky above them. It lit Clu's face, and in the back of Flynn's mind he realized that the sun was going down. Then they were moving together beneath the thunder. They writhed in the grass, pushing harder and deeper, sliding against the wet earth. Flynn's arm ached from the effort of holding Clu's leg, and the ground was hard against his hip, but he felt these things only distantly. His cock was a point of absolute pleasure, sheathed inside his hot, tight creation, pulling all of his awareness deeper in.

Flynn wanted Clu to come first. He wanted everything to be perfect for him, for his first time. He wanted to give Clu all the love of a thousand years, wanted to love him hard enough and long enough to erase the suffering they'd both endured at each other's hands. He tried to thrust deep and even, tried to pace himself, but he could feel himself losing it: between the sight of Clu's damp, needy face and the fierce red cock in his hand, Flynn had no hope. His hips started to stutter. He grabbed Clu tighter, wrapping his hand around that powerful thigh, and then threw his other arm around Clu's shoulder. Then he looked into Clu's eyes and _moved_ , slamming against him, letting himself go. The rain poured upon them in the last of the sunlight, soaking Flynn's beard, running in shining rivers from his hair. It made Clu burn almost as bright as he had on the Grid, alight with gold, and then Flynn was coming, screaming, filling Clu's ass.

Clu made it another couple of strokes before his own cock erupted, sending spurt after spurt into the grass. It was beautiful, dynamic, like evolution at work, and Flynn watched it greedily. Part of him was already thinking ahead, running through all the times they were going to do this, all the places they were going to do this. A full ten centuries of possibilities, from _in the kitchen later tonight_ to _Alan_ and _Roy_ and _conference room 105_. It felt good, like coming home; he felt his shoulders relax, felt the release of a tension he hadn't even known he was holding.

Sighing, he flopped back onto the earth. Something small fell from his ear, out of the corner of his eye, but he thought nothing of it. Then, with a start, he realized he'd just lost the rest of his grass _in_ the grass. He scrabbled for it for a second, without much hope. Then Clu rolled on top of it, looking down at him.

"That was... It was..." Clu gave up on description, and wrapped Flynn in a one-armed hug instead. His other hand ruffled Flynn's wet hair, flinging droplets everywhere.

"Glad you liked it. Just wish I'd given it to you a long time ago. I'm sorry, man. I--"

Clu squeezed him tighter, tight enough to make him squeak, and then pulled away, glaring down at him. "Stop saying that!" he ordered. "Stop saying 'sorry'. It makes my heart ache. It makes _me_ sorry, about the ISOs, about Sam, about _Tron_..."

Flynn stared up at him. In six months' time Clu had never mentioned any of that. They'd both avoided the topic, talking of other things. Flynn remembered how quiet that trip up the coast had been, though, remembered how Clu's lips had formed the shape of _perfection is everywhere_ again and again.

Flynn did what little he could. He reached up and held Clu, reeling him in tight, and swallowed the sorry-words when they tried to come. Clu nestled against him, warm in the growing chill of the evening. The rain had stopped.

Flynn didn't know what to say. He wanted to swear he'd never say _sorry_ again, but he couldn't. He knew he would. He had to. And he couldn't stand to lie to Clu, not again, after everything. He wracked his mind for the right words, for the right thing to say... and then it came to him.

"No promises," he finally said, squeezing Clu's shoulders.

Clu nodded against his chest. He reached out to take his hand, and linked his fingers in Flynn's own.

"No promises," he echoed.


End file.
